


Hangover

by kinsale_42



Series: McHanzo [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Feels, Brief reference to historical McReyes, Euphemistic reference to emesis, Hangover, M/M, Mission preparation, More angst, Reaching Understanding, Separation Anxiety, Smoking, Swearing, awkward reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 16:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14597049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinsale_42/pseuds/kinsale_42
Summary: Jesse and Hanzo miss each other terribly between Overwatch assignments when Jesse has to return to base to work and Hanzo is not yet called up, stirring up years-buried relationship fears. For Hanzo, being alone is no good, while Jesse struggles to deal with everyone around him offering input. When they reunite at last, they must decide whether they dare to share their inner turmoil.





	1. Hanzo

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to @HiMissParamount for giving this a test read and giving me lots of lovely encouraging feedback.

The room was so quiet, quiet enough that Hanzo could hear the refrigerator compressor switch on in the other room as he gradually shifted into consciousness. A spasm of panic hit him in that space of semi-awareness between fully asleep and fully aware. The bed was empty. He was alone. And then he remembered:  Jesse had returned to Overwatch.

Hanzo opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He hadn’t thought he’d even be able to bear having another person around all the time, and here he was, alarmed by the absence of that person nearly a week after he’d gone. The pillows he’d piled up to fill up the extra room in his bed and his arms were no replacement for his lover, but Hanzo turned his face into the warmth and held them tightly, remembering what it had been like to wake up next to Jesse.

It was like a different sort of hangover. The afterglow of Jesse’s affection was fading, leaving him feeling hollow and dazed. Hanzo stumbled through his day, only half his mind on what he was doing.

It was good that Jesse was gone, though, wasn’t it? How long would Hanzo have lasted before having someone in his personal space would have finally frayed his nerves? He had never noticed the feeling of being constantly observed as he grew up surrounded by watchful eyes, but now that he had lived nearly two decades without it, he knew he was sensitive to it. A week with his new lover hadn’t triggered the skin-crawling sensation, but surely it wouldn’t have taken much longer.

Hanzo stood in the shower, hot water streaming down his face and chest. He was tired, so very tired. Tired of being trapped and tangled in his own mind. The private time spent with Jesse had actually, surprisingly, alleviated his anxiety, but now it was flooding back in, filling the crevices and dark spaces in his head. He thought of the laughter, the easy affection, the warmth of Jesse’s voice and body, and it all seemed so distant already. He was back to wearing the shell of what everyone perceived as Hanzo, while the insides roiled and writhed and sought freedom and space to breathe.

It was better that Jesse had left before even he couldn’t stop the return of Hanzo’s normal state of being. Before the darkness had made itself known and precipitated the end of this good thing, this one good thing that Hanzo had somehow stumbled into. He was thanking all the gods and ancestors he could think of for the brief respite he had enjoyed as he got dressed again and walked out into the chill of the early spring night.

The music washed over him as he stepped through the blackened glass doors, loud enough to have actual physical presence. The club was dark, the party lights around the dance floor spinning and flashing over the fluid mass of bodies below. Hanzo didn’t know the tune, but he recognized the beat. The same beat had pounded in his ears and pulsed through the back alley Hanamura nightclubs twenty years ago, when he’d made use of his assassin’s training to slip out of the Shimada compound late at night, unseen. The nightclubs, like this one, that didn’t judge or care who you danced with, or who you left with.

He stood in line to buy a drink, and when he had one in his hand, he moved closer to the edge of the dance floor, watching as the music became a living entity through the movement of the dancers. Hanzo hadn’t really come to dance, or to drink. He just knew somehow that the sensation of being surrounded by the physicality of the dancing and the loud music would take the edge off of his withdrawal from Jesse. Maybe it was the associations his mind had made with those little Hanamura escapes, but this was the closest thing he could think of to making love to Jesse. And it stopped the anxious thoughts from looping in his head.

Then one of the light beams that played across the crowd lit up a man’s shaggy brown hair, and the substantial sideburn at the corner of his jaw, and Hanzo’s heart skipped several beats. It wasn’t Jesse, he knew it wasn’t. The man pivoted as he danced, and revealed himself to be much younger and a bit rounder of face, as well as being noticeably shorter than Jesse. There was a resemblance, but that was all. Hanzo downed the rest of his drink in one go in an attempt to counteract the unavoidable rush of adrenaline. But he couldn’t stop his gaze from returning to the almost-Jesse on the dance floor, who was now looking his way, aware that he’d caught Hanzo’s eye. He winked, and danced a bit more suggestively.

Hanzo felt the color rise in his face and looked away, searching for somewhere to set his now-empty glass. When he turned back, the younger man was now close to him, still dancing, smiling. He reached for Hanzo’s hand, and Hanzo let him take it.

He jerked his head, indicating the direction from whence he’d come. “DANCE,” he yelled. Hanzo wasn’t sure if it was a question or a command, but the resemblance to Jesse was still there, even with a different voice, and Hanzo couldn’t turn away. He was no longer in control of the situation, and followed the lead of the young man as he made his way back out to the center of the floor. He needed this, the sound, the movement, the attention. 

It was very late when he returned to the stillness of his apartment. His head spun a bit from the liquor and the headiness of being desired, and his body still thrummed with the vibrations of the music and the exertion of dancing. Hanzo tossed his keys and wallet on the table and flipped on the holofire for its soft light and comforting warmth. The flickering of the firelight reflected off the slip of white paper that had fallen out of Hanzo’s pocket when he removed his wallet, and he bent to pick it up. He smiled briefly as he read the name and number written on it, then folded it carefully and dropped it in the wastebasket. 

“I am sorry, Rafa,” he said to the empty room, echoing what he’d said to the man himself not half an hour earlier. “I am not looking for a lover tonight.” Then he whispered to himself what he had not said aloud before, “I long for the one I have already found.”


	2. Jesse

The recall of Overwatch had set up some logistical difficulties. As an unsanctioned force, they did not technically have rights to access any of the decommissioned or abandoned Overwatch installations. They were basically an underground militia, and the abandoned Cold War military installation that Reinhardt had suggested as their interim headquarters made that literal as well as figurative.

Antique but still-functioning fluorescent light fixtures lit Jesse’s way down the long, arched tunnel corridor. He was going to kick himself if he was on the wrong level again, but no, here was that pile of rotting cargo straps that he recognized as a landmark. He turned down a spur tunnel, one with four closed doors on each side. The third one on the left had a small “J” painted next to it, a little addition he’d made to mark his territory. Or, to be more accurate, remind him which door was his.

Jesse wasn’t entirely comfortable with this subterranean base, and it wasn’t just the slime that oozed through the masonry at varied intervals down the corridors and in low-priority chambers. The first thing the crew had done was clean up and treat the areas where people would be working, eating, and sleeping, at Angela’s insistence, but they didn’t have the time or resources to fix everything that needed fixing in this old rattletrap of a place. No, what really bothered Jesse was the feeling that he couldn’t see what was outside, that they were cut off from the world. Even with the top notch surveillance system they’d set up, he felt like he was completely blind down here, and it was only compounded by the communications lockdown that had been imposed in the wake of the hackings at Gibraltar and Antarctica.

He sighed as he unlocked the door of his quarters and stepped inside, flicking the wall switch automatically.

“Quarters,” he scoffed under his breath. “This place ain’t big enough to swing a cat.” As if it sensed his disgust, the single light bulb above his head made a sizzling noise and then went out. His shoulders dropped in defeat as he stopped in the midst of removing his outer layers of clothing. That was another thing. The tunnels were always so cold and damp, he had to wear half his wardrobe every day to stay warm.

Jesse reached into his pocket for his lighter. At least he hadn’t quit carrying that, even if he had cut way back on the smoking. After lighting the candle lantern by his bed, he reached up to the shelf above the door and pulled down the box of light bulbs he had stashed there after the first time the light had burned out. The ceiling was conveniently low enough that he could just reach to change the bulb without having to climb up on anything, but it didn’t stop him from swearing the entire time he replaced it.

He flipped the switch again to make sure it worked, and then turned it off. The candle lantern would do just fine for now. It was more peaceful, even. Finally able to strip down to his shorts and undershirt, he sat on the edge of his bunk and slid his travel case out from where it was tucked away.

The candlelight was soft but steady as he pulled out a small, carefully wrapped bundle. Jesse got it out every night, but tonight, for some reason, he really needed to see it, needed the physical reminder that Hanzo was real. Maybe it was the drastic reduction in his nicotine intake, but his nerves were shot lately and he longed for some comfort, and this was all he had handy. He held it for a moment before unfolding the layers of silk and rice paper to reveal a smooth roll of paper. Amazingly, Jesse had not crushed it yet, though he would love it dearly even if it was crushed, torn, frayed and stained.

Unrolled, it revealed three Japanese characters. His eyes followed the now-familiar curves of each, the graceful brushstrokes midnight black against the candlelit gold of the paper. Jesse couldn’t read Japanese and didn’t really know or care what it said. To him each character was the movement of Hanzo’s arm, the loose but careful grip of his fingers on the brush, and the absolute concentrated peace on his face as he made each stroke. Jesse also knew the red stamp in the corner was Hanzo’s name, and he touched it with his fingertips as though he could touch Hanzo himself.

Two weeks since he’d left the Pacific Northwest for Germany, and Hanzo was already becoming a wraith in his memory, a slip of paper with a few brushstrokes on it. What would it even be like to see him again? Another ten days and he’d know for sure, when the crew gathered to prepare for the next mission. Jesse returned the scroll to its safe harbor as he counted the weeks since they’d first kissed in King’s Row. Three months? Nearly four...right at that breaking point where it seemed like every relationship Jesse had ever attempted had gone sour. His heart twisted and he pressed his lips together. He knew he already needed Hanzo too much. That week they’d spent together had been like heaven on earth, and he had utterly lost himself. He’d almost gotten to touch that elusive flame that danced behind Hanzo’s eyes, that spirit he kept buried and hidden away, and Jesse yearned for another chance to see it.

He blew out the candle and slipped under the blankets. He groaned slightly as his body reacted to his memories of his lover, but he ignored it. Because the reality was that Hanzo would notice, if he hadn’t already, that Jesse’s ability to keep things together and moving forward on the battlefield bore little relation to being able to manage personal, intimate relationships. That part of his head had always been, and still was, untamed and chaotic, and he was acutely aware of the likelihood it would betray him again. Hanzo would see it, and reject it like everyone before him.


	3. Thursday

“Winston, quit apologizing. You weren’t lax in your security when you left Gibraltar, the systems were hacked.” A note of exasperation crept into Jesse’s voice. Organizational meetings for the next strike had begun in earnest, and more agents were arriving at the secret German base daily.

“By an exceptionally talented hacker. You know this.” Ana shifted in her chair slightly as she spoke. The twentieth-century relic had probably not been much more comfortable back then, either.

Winston sighed. “I know, I know. I still can’t help feeling bad that we had to set up a whole operation because I left the place unattended.”

“It’s not like we had to stage an armed attack simply to recover your peanut butter stash, bud. They knew you were gone, they knew there was equipment there that they could use and that it would put a kink in our plans if they took it.” Jesse was rolling a cigarillo between his finger and thumb. He’d been playing with it for most of the meeting, wanting to light it up but knowing the room was far too small and poorly ventilated. And he could tell Angela was watching him. She’d been pleased that he was cutting back but she still clearly wanted him to quit altogether. “Anyway,” he said, his eyes still on the delicious-smelling bundle of tobacco, “I think we’ve covered the agenda for this meeting, haven’t we?”

The others around the table nodded. Winston picked up his tablet and scrolled through the displayed text. “Yes. I will make the necessary adjustments to the proposed plan of action and set up the team debriefings. If anyone thinks of anything else that needs to be addressed between now and Tuesday, you know where to find me.” It was like the bell ringing at the end of class: as soon as he finished speaking, chairs were pushed back and there was a rustling of paper and clothing. Jesse didn’t stick around to see who went where, he needed like hell to get outside where he could breathe again. Where he could smoke in peace.

He made a quick detour past his quarters, but was soon out in the cool air of an early spring evening, climbing up to his private overlook. From that perch he could look down the narrow ravine where the compound had been built, right down to the entry gate, and watch as the tops of the trees on the opposite slope turned fiery from the sun setting behind him. Everything was quiet around him as he lit his cigarillo. He could hear the evening birds in the forest, and the occasional distant sound of farm equipment or cow mooing from the tiny farm village over the hill.

Jesse just let everything go for a minute or two, focusing entirely on his smoke and how the singing in his veins grew quieter as he allowed himself to relax. Then he slipped his hand beneath his serape and pulled out Hanzo’s scroll. Today was Thursday, and Hanzo was due in for the mission on Sunday. Half of him was ecstatic, half was terrified. He rubbed his thumb over Hanzo’s red seal.

“Mu sho jū,” said a voice at his shoulder, and Jesse nearly leapt out of his skin. “No place to live.”

“Dammit, Genji. How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that?” He let the scroll curl up in his hand as he took a deep draw on his cigarillo.

“My apologies. I will be noisy like a bastion next time.” The younger Shimada was especially stealthy when not in full armor, and it seemed to be unavoidable. His eyes followed the paper in Jesse’s hand. “May I see that? My brother gave that to you?”

Jesse eyed his friend carefully as he passed the scroll over. “Yes, he was practicing one day and I was admiring his work, and he said I could have one if I liked. I chose that one.”

“And he explained the meaning to you?” There was something soft in Genji’s expression, Jesse would have sworn it was wistfulness, but then it faded as quickly as he noticed it.

He shook his head. “No, not really. I mean, he said it was something about each moment being meaningful but temporary, and not trying to live in the past.”

Genji nodded slowly as he handed the scroll back over. “That is one interpretation. I was taught that it is a reminder to simply accept and enjoy beauty as it flows by. Allowing oneself to become deeply attached to such things leads to sorrow, as the happiness they bring cannot be maintained. All life is fluid in this way.” He paused. “He has a steady hand and a graceful brush, my brother.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Jesse replied, casually. He tucked the scroll away, almost unhappy that Genji had seen it, even less pleased at what Genji had told him about it. He’d have to think about it more carefully later.

The ninja suppressed a grin, then sighed contentedly. “It is far more pleasant up here than below,” he said. “I do not like feeling trapped underground.”

“Me either.” Jesse was looking forward to the trip to Greece, where the warm sun of the Mediterranean would finally get the cave damp out of his bones, even though every mission brought the chance of injury or death. At least he’d die warm and dry. And hopefully before his heart was broken again.


	4. Friday

* _swearing and drinking ahead, be forewarned_ *

 

 

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.” It had taken twenty minutes for Jesse to notice his alarm had been going off. Now there was no time for a shower before his first meeting of the day. If he didn’t hurry, there’d be no time for coffee either, and there was no way he could skip that. Not after tossing and turning all night. If he was lucky, he’d gotten maybe two hours of actual sleep between imagining that Hanzo was just a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy and being certain that even if he wasn’t that kind of guy, he’d not stick around once he really got to know Jesse anyway.

He raced down the corridor, taking the stairs down to the next level two at a time to try and make it to the canteen in time to grab some coffee. He’d never wished for Lena’s time-skip abilities so intensely before. At last, mug in hand, Jesse arrived at the debriefing room just two minutes before the meeting was due to start.

It was only when he closed the door behind him that he realized he’d left his tablet in his quarters. He wasn’t presenting solo, at least, but he felt like the biggest fuck-up in Overwatch when he made eye contact with Ana. She smiled wryly when he whispered to her what had happened.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered back. “It will be fine.” She proceeded to take the reins of the briefing session, giving Jesse openings to explain things she knew he could discuss without supplementary materials.

He was glad he was part of a team that would support him, but he still kicked himself all the way back to his quarters after the session. He turned down the spur corridor and reached for the door handle when he realized there was no tiny “J” there to greet him. He was on the wrong level.

“Fuck!” Jesse groaned and leaned his forehead against the cold, painted concrete wall next to the door. After a long moment, he sighed and turned back towards the main corridor and the stairs. Everything was so damned difficult today. His brain was about as much use as a bowl of pudding.

Somehow he made it to the next meeting with no further delay, and was able to access and share the data he’d gathered, even though his tablet somehow hadn’t charged properly overnight and was threatening to die at any moment. The storm clouds that gathered behind his eyes did not go unnoticed by his team, but Jesse kept his frustration in check, knowing that he was at liberty for the rest of the weekend as soon as they broke for lunch.

The evening was wearing on when Jesse walked into the lounge, cigar blazing, and set down his bottle of bourbon with a noticeable thunk on the table. A glass tumbler and a rather timeworn pack of cards followed as three sets of eyes turned towards him.

“Who’s up for a game?” he asked the room generally, his voice straining to be jovial in an attempt to mask his interior anger. A wisp of smoke trailed around his head as he sat down.

Lena looked down at her book, and then back up at Jesse’s face. After swiftly evaluating the grimness of his expression, she glanced across to where Genji sat cross-legged on an ancient sofa with his tablet before answering.

“Count me out tonight, Jess,” she said, using as gentle a tone as she could muster. “I was just about off to bed.” Lena stood up and stretched, her book nearly dropping out of her hand. “Thanks for asking, though! Maybe next time!” And she slipped out of the room almost faster than the eye could follow.

“Genji?” Jesse’s eyes were on the bourbon as he poured out a good three fingers or more into his glass.

“I still owe you from the last game we played.”

“I’ll float ya.” Jesse scooted his chair closer to the table, pulled out the cards and began to shuffle. His fingers, both natural and mechanical, worked deftly to interleave and then straighten the cards, contradicting the evidence that the nearly half-empty bourbon bottle presented. Genji knew from experience that it took more time for Jesse McCree to slip down into noticeable intoxication than it did for most people, but it didn’t mean he was unaffected.

“Ahhh, I am not falling for it this time, Jesse. I know what you are like with the cards, especially in this sort of mood.” Genji carefully unfolded his legs, preparing to make an exit.

The softer lighting of the lamps that Angela had scavenged to give the off-hours area a more home-like feel did nothing to obscure the unflinching directness of Jesse’s gaze as he turned to look at Genji. “What sort of mood, exactly?” His voice was dead quiet, with an edge of fire that had little to do with the heat of his cigar.

Genji wasn’t going to fall into that trap, either. He carefully sidestepped the fight that Jesse wanted to start. “The sort that will have you doubling down on the biggest possible bluff and still winning. I know you too well, my friend.” His fingertips brushed the edge of the table as he passed it on the way to the door. “Have a good night, Jesse.”

Jesse said nothing, but rapped the deck of cards sharply on the table to square them in his hand, then began to deal out the most complicated solitaire game he could remember. He didn’t look up when the chair opposite was pulled out from the table, and Jack Morrison sat down.

“Don’t wanna talk, Jack.” He reached for his glass and took a swig before lifting two of the cards from the arrangement in front of him and placing them to one side.

“What’s going on, Jesse? This is more than waking up late and having a rough day.” If he’d been sober, Jesse would have wondered once again how Jack could manage to sound gruff and unsociable but concerned about one’s well-being simultaneously.

“None of your business, Jack.” His eyes remained firmly on his cards, and he shifted a few more around as he saw the patterns they formed.

Jack leaned back and the wooden chair creaked ominously, but didn’t fail. “Is this related to your...personal situation?”

At this Jesse couldn’t stop himself from glancing up at the older man, but where he had the power to stare down Genji, he had no such strength here and his gaze went back to the tabletop. Like a belligerent teenager, he responded, “Fuck off, Jack.”

“Look, I know you’ve had trouble in the past. It’s par for the course in our line of work.” Jack watched as Jesse just stared at his cards and sucked gently on his cigar. “We’re all fucked up on this crew, Jesse. Every one of us, the things we’ve seen, the things we’ve done. We couldn’t be normal if we tried.” He thought he saw Jesse’s eyelashes flutter, but without his visor, Jack’s eyesight was not so great.

“Jack. Shut up.” Jesse’s voice was low, rough. He took out his cigar and downed the rest of his glass of whiskey. Ash fell unregarded from the end of the cigar to land harmlessly on the bare concrete floor.

“I just...don’t cut yourself off. Being damaged doesn’t mean you don’t have anything to give, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean you don’t deserve anything good.” Jack gave a little huff of a sigh, like he was trying to say something in particular, but couldn’t get his words to take him there. “What happened before... I mean, sometimes we’re inclined to blame ourselves for bad things happening, but it’s not always our fault.” He pushed his chair back from the table, the sound of the legs scraping on the floor so loud in the quiet of the room.

“Forget it,” he muttered. He started to push himself up from the table, when Jesse looked up at him.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Jesse asked, the accusatory tone of his increasingly inebriated voice suggesting he knew precisely where Jack was going and didn’t like it one bit.

Jack didn’t back down. He had to say something, once and for all. He knew he might not get another chance, and if he could fix one thing before the end, he wanted it to be this. “Look, we’ve been on the same team for a long time. Maybe we don’t know each other as well as you and Genji do, but I know things. And I know that there are things--people--that we have in common.”

“Get to the point, Jack, you son of a bitch,” Jesse interrupted. “If this is about Gabe…”

“It wasn’t your fault, Jesse.” Jack looked down at his fingers gripping the edge of the table, shaking his head slightly. “If it was anyone’s fault, it was mine. It was always mine.”

Cards flew around him as Jesse pushed his hand sharply across the table, destroying his own game. He stood up, a little unsteady now, picking up the bourbon bottle in one hand and the glass in the other. “What you _mean_ , Jack, what you _mean_ , is that HE was always yours. I was never fucking good enough, was I?”

“I’m trying to tell you it wasn’t you. You were perfect, you were exactly what he knew he needed, but he couldn’t see anything but me. I’m trying to say I’m sorry, don’t carry this on your head anymore. You have a chance to try again, to be happy, and you deserve it. Be angry at me all you want, I can take it, but cut yourself a break.” Jack stood up straight, looking Jesse in the eye again, waiting for his reaction.

Jesse narrowed his eyes, and pointing his glass at Jack, he said, with more venom than Jack had ever heard in his voice, “Fuck you, Jack. Fuck. You.” He kicked his chair over and walked out the door.


	5. Saturday Morning

Jesse groaned when he realized he was awake again. The room was still a bit unstable around him when he sat up. He stood up, and after he made sure he was decent enough to leave his room, he staggered down the hall to the bathroom. Maybe a hot shower would help. A hot shower and hot coffee, and then a little smoke and some aspirin and back to bed. No work today, and Hanzo wasn’t due to arrive to join the mission until Sunday.

The sun was just peeking above the tops of the trees across the ravine as Jesse climbed up the decaying concrete wall to his little smoking perch. The accelerated rotation of his environment had faded, but now he just felt like pure death. Hangovers definitely did not get any better as he got older, and today the suffering was accompanied by a visceral sense of despair. He wished he could just bury himself in Hanzo’s arms. Hell, even just being able to send him a text message would be nice.

Yesterday had been consumed by the belief that Hanzo would never stay with him, but today Jesse just wanted to see his lover again, regardless of the outcome. He watched the smoke rise from his cigarillo as snatches of the previous evening came back to him. Remembering his anger at Jack just heightened the sense of impending doom that accompanied his hangover. Stubbing his smoke out half-finished, Jesse clambered back down to the entrance to the tunnels.

He wandered down towards the infirmary to pick up something for his headache, then turned in the direction of the sleeping quarters. The movement helped a bit. At least walking was something to concentrate on besides what an asshole he was to the people around him and how godawful his body felt.

Jesse paused at the end of the first spur tunnel that marked the sleeping quarters. The room assigned to Hanzo was here, and he knew it because he had drawn up the assignments himself.

“Heh,” he murmured to himself. “Still can’t believe they got me doing admin.” And he turned down the side tunnel and used his master key to unlock what would be Hanzo’s door when he arrived, for the duration of the next mission, anyway.

The room was as small as his own, but it was cleaner, brighter, in better condition. It was entirely possible that Jesse had chosen this room as Hanzo’s on purpose for exactly those reasons. Jesse stepped inside, turning on the light and leaving the door ajar as his eyes examined each feature, assuring himself that it was in the best possible condition. It was a good distraction from the rumbling of his insides and the shivery feeling of his body processing the last of his overindulgence.

Jesse reached down and switched on the space heater, nodding approvingly when the overhead light didn’t even flicker like it would have in his own quarters. He sat on the bed, bouncing slightly to make sure it wasn’t too hard. Might be a little soft, he thought, but not too bad. He drifted sideways until he was lying down, imagining Hanzo pulling him down against his chest. The soft clean pillow and the warm air on his face were soothing, and he felt himself begin to relax towards slumber.

“Jesse?”

Jesse nearly leapt out of his skin, on his feet in a split second, only for the room to begin spinning violently again. “H...Hanzo? You aren’t supposed to be here.”

Hanzo stood in the open doorway, a bag in one hand, a piece of paper in the other, his bow case slung across his back. He looked rumpled and exhausted, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced than usual. He waved the paper slightly. “They directed me to this room. Am I wrong?”

Jesse shook his head, trying to clear the tendrils of sleep from his mind and failing. “No, I mean, you aren’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow. Uh…” He went pale. “I have to go,” he said, and pushing past Hanzo, he disappeared down the hallway.

Hanzo felt like all the blood had drained from his body. He was suddenly so cold, and even the fierce little heater could not make headway against the chill. He stepped into the room and set his bag down, closing the door quietly. He’d jumped at the offer of an earlier flight, hoping that it would give him some extra time to recover from jet lag and spend with Jesse before the job put them both in the line of fire again. But perhaps he’d gotten things wrong. All wrong.

He stripped down, turned out the light, and slipped into the bed, laying his head where Jesse’s had left an indentation. It would all have to wait. Fourteen hours of travel had wiped him out and he needed to sleep before he could reasonably attempt to deal with anything. 


	6. Saturday Evening

Jesse examined the cigarillo he’d stubbed out earlier. He’d barely started it, so he could probably make it last almost ten minutes, if he went easy on it. He flicked his lighter and inhaled. He still felt off, but sleeping for another six hours had helped.

“So much for cutting back on the smoking, eh, Jesse?”

“Genji! Dammit, I could have had a heart attack.”

“You must first possess a heart,” Genji replied wryly. “I wanted to ask you about that.”

Jesse sighed. “I’m not really up for a chat right now.”

Genji settled down next to Jesse, letting his feet dangle over the edge of the wall. “I have seen my brother.”

“Yeah? So he really arrived early, then. I thought I was dreaming.” Jesse kept his voice neutral. He really didn’t want to talk about it, and he briefly regretted getting involved with his friend’s brother, if it meant that Genji would be constantly playing both sides.

“He looks like a shadow, and it is not simply jet lag. What happened this morning?”

Jesse sucked on his cigarillo, forgetting his resolution to make it last. “I, uh, had to leave suddenly, before we could have a proper reunion.” There was silence, and he knew it meant his answer wasn’t good enough. “I was sick, and I preferred to lose my cookies in private than on the shoes of an attractive man. Or in his room. You know how hard it is to get the smells out of those tunnels.” He rubbed his nose sheepishly.

Genji almost snorted. It was too embarrassing of a story to be untrue, and Jesse would usually skirt a subject entirely rather than lie.

But then Jesse continued, unprompted. “He didn’t seem overjoyed to see me, either, in his quarters uninvited. So I hope you’re having this conversation with him, too.” His voice had turned darker, touched with a fatalism that Genji didn’t like to hear.

“I wish I could show you what I see,” Genji said. “I know you, my friend, and though I have not been close to him for many years, I know my brother. I have not seen either of you so alive as I have in these last few months.”

“Well, you can’t have light without darkness, Genj. Happiness doesn’t last forever.” Jesse flicked a bit of ash away over the precipice.

“You think he doesn’t care for you.” It wasn’t a question, it was a realization. “Jesse.” His voice was gentler now, his need to protect his brother fading as he understood what was going wrong.

“You said it yourself. Beauty is fleeting, and we can’t try and hold onto it, right? Easy come, easy go. Like he was telling me not to get too attached, right from the start.”

“I think he told you exactly what he sees in those characters, and it is not a warning to you. There are several things he has done that say clearly to me how special you are to him. Shall I list them for you?”

Jesse at last turned his head to see the determined expression on Genji’s face. “Doesn’t look like I’m gonna be able to stop you, so have at it.”

“He calls you by your given name, and although he has tried to make a break with the past, he is still very traditional in many ways. He would call you by your family name if he did not wish to be close to you.”

Jesse shrugged. “You call me Jesse, and you’re not in love with me, are you? Or is there something you haven’t told me?”

Genji chuckled. “No, but we have been friends a very long time, and I rely on you in combat as if you were a brother. I consider you adopted family.” A fleeting smile crossed his face, and then he continued, “You have seen his home. I have not even seen his home, and I am his brother. I do not even know where he lives.”

“Really?” Jesse asked, the disbelief obvious in his expression. “He thinks you do.”

“He has never told me, and I have never tried to find out. But he has let you in. He has even let you stay with him, has he not?”

Jesse nodded.

“And he shared his art with you. If I understand you correctly, he performed it while you were watching. This was a very intimate act for him.” Genji fell silent, watching Jesse’s face as he revisited his memories.

Jesse tossed the tip of his finished cigarillo out into the abyss and stared up into the twilight sky. He had nothing to say.

“Just consider it, my friend. I will leave you to your thoughts.” Genji got to his feet.

“Genji,” said Jesse.

“Yes?”

“Quit sneaking up on me.”

“Right. Like a bastion next time.” And then he was gone, back over the wall to the tunnels.

Jesse reached in his pocket and pulled out another cigarillo, shrugging his serape closer around him against the chill of the night as the flame from his lighter lit his face. The only noises he could hear were the brushing sounds of the trees in the breeze and the faint sizzle of the burning end of his smoke as he inhaled. At last, some peace. Nobody giving him unsolicited advice.

And then there was the quiet scritching sound of a soft boot on decaying concrete. Jesse didn’t budge. If it was an assassin, so be it. He figured he’d be okay, either way.

“Genji, so help me, if you’re sneaking up on me again…”

“I am not Genji,” said a soft voice at his shoulder.

Jesse’s heart leapt into his throat. He turned his head. “Hanzo.” He slid over a few inches and brushed off the concrete next to him. “Join me?”

“Thank you,” said Hanzo, sitting down carefully. He opened his mouth to speak again, then closed it. He swallowed and looked out into the night. This was more difficult than he thought it would be. They sat in silence for a few minutes as he wondered if he would be able to say what he needed to say, and wondered if by saying it, Jesse would be lost to him.

Jesse wanted to apologize for their awkward reunion, to tell Hanzo how much he’d missed him. He wanted to kiss Hanzo, to pull his hair free from its binding and stroke his neck and hold him close. But he waited. He waited, expecting to hear the words he never wanted to hear again, and the lump in his throat grew, and he felt lightheaded and a little numb as he waited for the axe to fall.

“I wanted to speak with you because I need to know where we stand.” Hanzo finally found his voice. He could sense Jesse’s stillness, like a mouse frozen before a cat. “I believe...I fear that I am not who you want me to be, that I can not be who you want me to be. There is a great darkness that I face, and I would not have it pull you down with me.”

Inside Jesse’s head, the restraints on his fears were giving way, and his emotions were beginning to work their way loose, tangled and unruly, each one fighting for dominance. But he could breathe again, and speak.

“Hanzo...I only ever want you to be yourself. If that’s something you can’t do with me around, I get it, believe me. I’m a giant mess of a man myself. Not much good for anything.” Jesse’s face was hot and his eyes were burning and he knew it wasn’t the cigarillo causing the problem.

Hanzo turned and made eye contact with him at last, the glowing cherry on Jesse’s smoke providing just enough light to do so. “But you have been good for me,” he said, as if surprised Jesse didn’t understand that. “I had long ago accepted that I would live my life alone, that I could not be deserving of anything like a normal life. Being with you has opened my eyes--no, it has freed my spirit. I would give everything to continue at your side, but I cannot change who I am, and if it is not what you desire…” His voice turned sad and he looked away again. “If I am not what you desire, then it is not my place to command it.”

“Han,” began Jesse. “Han, you are what I want, I’m just so damned scared that I will hurt us both. I can’t control what goes on in my head and sometimes it’s too much for me to handle. I’m not afraid of your darkness, I know darkness all too well. It’s the chaos inside that frightens me.” A tear escaped his eye and slid swiftly across his cheek. Somewhere this had turned from his fear that Hanzo would hurt him to a certainty that he would hurt Hanzo, and it was possible that the two had been muddled up together all along.

“Jesse,” said Hanzo, quietly.

Another tear was threatening to fall, and Hanzo's voice transforming his name into silk reminded Jesse of what Genji had said.

“Jesse.”

Jesse carefully stubbed out the end of his cigarillo and its remains followed the first in a graceful arc into darkness. He turned to face Hanzo and felt the gentle fingers of his lover slide along his jaw. He leaned into the touch.

“Hanzo, don't go.” Jesse could do no more than whisper. “I need you.”

“Jesse,” Hanzo said with even more warmth, and pulled Jesse’s cheek to touch his own, breathing in the scent of smoke and skin and the soap Jesse used. His heart seemed to grow exponentially in his chest as light blossomed within him again. “Koibito,” he murmured, “I need you too.”


	7. Epilogue

The alarm beeped and Jesse reached over to switch it off. It was Sunday, after all. He snuggled back under the covers where it was warm and safe.

“Mmmf. Breakfast, Jesse. We have to get up for breakfast.” Hanzo squeezed him around the middle, not letting him fall back asleep.

He groaned. “Fine. Okay. I’m getting up.” Jesse didn’t budge.

“Jesse,” Hanzo said into the space between Jesse’s shoulder blades. The vibration of Hanzo’s voice tickled. Jesse smiled.

Somehow they managed to make it to the canteen while the coffee was still hot and there was still food on offer, even after stopping off at Jesse’s quarters to drop off the more gorgeous, more professionally crafted and mounted shodo scroll that Hanzo had brought with him as a gift for Jesse.

“This now hangs on my wall, in place of the old one,” he’d explained. “It was time for a new lesson, a new reflection. ‘Cloud Passes Blue Mountain Appears’ reminds us that even though one may not always see the source of our strength due to storm or darkness, it is there still. I wanted you to know this too.”

There were plenty of seats available, and Jesse quickly evaluated their options before choosing. He sat down with his coffee and hard German roll at an already occupied table, and Hanzo sat beside him.

“Morning, Jack.”   


“Morning, Jesse. Feeling better today?”

“Much, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it,” he replied, and something in Jack’s scratchy voice sounded sincere.

“Jack…” Jesse started, then paused as he decided what he wanted to say. “Apology accepted.”

Jack smiled a lopsided smile.

“Don’t bring it up again, though,” Jesse warned, though the warmth of his tone contradicted the stern expression he put on.

Jack clapped him on the shoulder as he stood up from the table. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He nodded a greeting to Hanzo. “Good to see you back with us, Shimada. It’s always my pleasure to lead you into battle. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me…” 


End file.
